Mysterious Ways
by AiredaleLady
Summary: On a night out with her friends, Daphne is critically wounded by a mysterious attacker. How she recovers is a mystery that even Fred and Velma may never solve. A "13 Ghosts of SD" based fic, featuring Fred, Velma and Daphne.


MYSTERIOUS WAYS

__

A.D., this one's for you

"Well, Flimmie, what did you think of the movie?"

"It was corny," came the ten year old's reply. "They called _that_ a monster? I've seen meaner looking things growing on bread." 

Fred, Velma and Daphne had taken Flim Flam to see the digitally re-mastered version of "I was a Teenage Blob," but even with all the modern retouches, the film still retained the look of a campy, low-budget horror flick. 

"Well, I suppose after seeing what was inside the chest of demons, anything else would pale in comparison," commented Fred. 

Daphne chuckled. "Now _those_ were monsters." 

Velma listened in amusement to the redhead's comments; while she had heard about the chest of demons, she had never seen the box, or its hellish contents. The bespectacled girl yawned. "Maybe we ought to think about heading back, Fred," she suggested. "I've got an early class tomorrow."

The blond man glanced at his watch, 10:30 p.m. "You're right, Velma. It is getting a little late, and we still have a ways to walk." 

"Couldn't we just take a cab back?" asked Daphne, surveying the environs, "it's kind of creepy in this neighborhood." 

"We'll be okay," replied Fred, although his tone was less than confident. His detective instincts told him that Daphne was right in her assessment of the neighborhood, but as of yet, the blond man could not figure out exactly why. Quickening his pace, he made his way to the front of the group, constantly on the alert. After being pursued by so many villains, the blond man had acquired somewhat of a sixth sense, warning him that he was being trailed; now that sense was sending him a very strong message, someone was following them, he was sure of it. 

Cautiously, Fred continued down the sidewalk, the warning of danger grew ever more insistent; he knew that he could not wait any longer. "Get down!!" he screeched just as a series of shots rang out from behind him. The blond man instinctively dropped into a "duck-and-cover" position, tucking his head between his legs; Velma jumped in front of the boy, effectively pushing him out of harm's way. Amidst the cacophonous din, another shot rang out, followed by a loud, familiar sounding scream. The redhead ducked aside; she felt something graze her forehead, and then, blackness.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Fred Jones gradually regained his senses, pulling himself to his knees. He put his hand on his forehead to stop the throbbing pain. "I…is everyone okay?" he asked, though it hurt to speak. 

"I'm okay," came Velma's reply, "or I will be as soon as I find my glasses." 

"Flim Flam?"

"Fine," the boy replied. 

"Daphne?" 

The lack of an immediate response sent a wave of worry through the blond man's mind. "Daphne," he called, this time with a renewed sense of urgency; he would never forgive himself if anything were to happen to the redhead. "Daphne," he shouted, walking in the direction where she had last stood. A knot formed in his throat and in his stomach as he took note of the ghoulish sight in front of him. "Noooooo!!"

The sound of Fred's scream immediately brought Velma to her senses. Having recovered her glasses, she looked in the direction of the blond man and gasped in horror at what she saw. The redhead lay unmoving on the sidewalk, a steady trickle of blood flowed from a wound on the side of her head. The blond man knelt beside his girlfriend, only slightly relieved upon seeing the rhythmic rising and falling of her chest and hearing the labored sound of her breathing; at least she was still alive. 

Fred ripped off his ascot and placed it over the wound, applying pressure to stem the flow of blood. "Call 9-1-1," he ordered, but the spectacled girl had already anticipated his order and was speaking to a dispatcher. Fred turned his attention back to Daphne. "Don't worry Daph," he whispered, pushing aside the blood- encrusted strands of red hair and gently stroking her face, "you'll be okay, I promise." 

Flim Flam watched the scene from several feet away, dazed and confused. Sidling up to the blond man and trying to look brave, he asked, "Is she going to be alright?" 

Fred lifted his head and made eye contact with the boy. "I hope so, Flimmie," he replied, barely managing to hold back his tears, "I hope so." 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Flim Flam sat despondently in the hospital waiting room, his head resting in his hands; the only mother figure he had ever known lay in a hospital bed, near comatose, with no word yet on her chances of survival. The blond man paced nervously around the waiting area, anxiously awaiting any word of a status change in his girlfriend.

Velma watched Fred's methodical pacing, finding his movements both annoying and calming at once; it gave her something on which to focus other than the redhead's critical condition; she welcomed any diversion from the battle being waged in her subconscious mind. Her rational, science based side told her that 90% of gunshot victims who sustained wounds to the head did not recover, but her heart kept insisting that the redhead would fall into the 10% minority who did recover. _Daphne's a fighter_, Velma told herself, _She'll pull through; I know she will_. The bespectacled girl sighed as she realized that in following Fred's pacing, her eyes would inadvertently fall upon the boy, the boy who was suffering in silence.

Another battle slowly got underway in the girl's mind, this time, over the boy. Part of her wanted to reach out and comfort the child, yet, another side of her recognized his need for solitude. The bespectacled girl's nascent maternal instinct eventually triumphed over her rational instinct and she stood up to approach the boy. "Flimmie," she began, extending her hand to the boy's shoulders, but the boy drew back, punctuating his discomfort with an audible grunt. Velma made a second attempt, but still, the boy refused to accept her offers of solace. He shot Velma a dirty look, but the bespectacled girl could see that beneath the scornful expression were hidden feelings of pain and worry. Shaking her head, she backed away, sinking into her chair with a soft sob. 

Aware of her letdown, Fred momentarily stopped his pacing to take a seat beside the younger girl. "Don't take it so hard, Velma," he whispered, reassuringly, "he'll come around, it will just take awhile." 

Velma looked at the blond man, tears filling her eyes. "I feel so guilty, Fred," she wept. "That boy is sitting there, all alone, practically begging for reassurance, and yet, when someone offers it, he refuses. Why?" 

"It's a defense mechanism," the blond man replied. "He's in a state of shock, so rather than risk getting hurt once again, he has closed himself off from everyone." 

"It just seems wrong to leave him sitting there like that, though," continued Velma, "what's worse, I know Daphne would want me to help him; but how can I help him if he won't let me approach him?"

"That's just his nature, Vel," continued Fred. "He doesn't give out his trust too freely; it's probably something he learned while living on the streets." The blond man patted the younger girl on the back. "Keep trying, Vel," he whispered, confidently. "You'll reach him eventually." 

Encouraged by Fred's words, Velma approached the boy with a renewed confidence. "Flimmie," she began, though she scarcely dared hope that he would respond.

Flim Flam turned his head to look in the direction of the voice, but said nothing.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" continued Velma, gesturing to an empty seat. 

The boy shrugged. "S'pose," he replied, monotonously. 

Velma offered a warm smile. "I knew you'd talk to me eventually," she said, as she reached out to put her arm around the boy's shoulder. He squirmed, as though making a concerted effort to distance himself from the older girl. 

Velma sighed in despair, frustrated by the boy's actions. _If only I could make him understand that I am only trying to help him_, she thought, pausing for a moment to analyze the situation and to find the most appropriate approach. Satisfied with her analysis, she made another attempt. "I know you're worried about Daphne," she began, slowly. "I am too. She's my best friend, you know?"

Flim Flam sniffled, nodding in response to Velma's comment, but still remaining reticent. 

"I know you trusted her," continued Velma, "and I know that you trust Fred, too. Perhaps you could find it in yourself to trust someone whom they both trust as well?" 

Velma paused, waiting for the boy's response. After a prolonged silence, Flim Flam spoke. "Uh, well, it's just…that…" He trailed off abruptly, and Velma could tell from his hesitancy that the boy was afraid to say what was on his mind. "Uh, you won't get mad at me if I say this, will you?" he asked, in the most innocent tone he could muster. 

"Of course not."

The young boy took a deep breath, looking at the floor as he spoke. "It's just that…well…I guess I'm afraid to talk to you since you just seem like you would be unapproachable, you know, you being so smart and all…" He cut himself off once again, hoping that his silver tongue hadn't insulted the older girl. Slowly and carefully, he lifted his head and made eye contact with Velma; much to his surprise, she was smiling, she hadn't been insulted at all. 

"You know, that's exactly how Daphne felt when she first met me." 

The mention of Daphne's name caught the boy's attention. "Really?"

Velma smiled, as she recalled that afternoon, so many years ago. "Flimmie," she asked, "how old are you, about ten?"

The boy nodded. 

"That's how old I was when I first got to know Daphne. And you know what? She thought the same thing about me, just like you just did." 

The boy's eyes widened with curiosity; he moved closer to the older girl, hoping that she might share the story with him. As if anticipating the boy's request, Velma began, "Well, it was a Saturday afternoon, in the spring. I was sitting by myself in the tree house, when…." 

Flim-Flam listened intently as Velma recounted her first meeting with the redhead, and how the two girls had overcome their differences and grown to become inseparable friends. Finishing the story, Velma glanced briefly at the boy. His face was no longer a mask of impassivity, and Velma concluded that the boy had now established a reasonable trust factor between the two of them. 

Flim Flam sidled up to the older girl, flanking her side. "You know, Velms," he began, the sprightly tone returning to his voice, "you're not as unapproachable as I had thought; in fact, I kind of like you." 

The bespectacled girl hugged the boy tightly; the use of a nickname confirmed that he had finally accepted her into his intimate circle. "I knew you would," she commented, gently rustling the boy's hair. 

The child's voice grew somber once again as he asked, "Can we go see Daphne?" 

"That's not up to us," Velma replied, softly, drawing the boy in close to her in a tight embrace, "that's up to the doctor." 

Flim Flam moved closer to Velma, nuzzling against her chest in a way that he had previously done only with the redheaded woman. "She's not going to die, is she?" he asked, almost fearful of the response. 

Velma looked down at the boy, allowing him to rest his head on her shoulders. "Daphne's a fighter," she replied, gently patting the boy on the back, "I'm sure she will be all right. 

"Speaking of Daphne…" Velma looked up to find the blond man standing in front of her. "The doctor said we can go in and see her, but only for five minutes." 

"It's better than nothing," the bespectacled girl replied, pulling herself out of the chair and taking the boy's hand. "C'mon Flimmie," she offered, "let's go see Daphne."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Inside the trauma unit, the redhead lay in bed, wires running from her body to various monitoring devices. An uneasy silence reigned in the room, save for the rhythmic beeping of the EKG monitor. Velma surveyed the monitors, carefully noting the numbers on the LED displays; the redhead was alive, but did not register her friends' presences. 

Fred fixated on his girlfriend; he felt personally responsible for her being there. If only he had reacted a second sooner; if only he had pushed her out of the way, as Velma had done for the boy; there were so many "if onlys," and the blond man knew that he would never forgive himself if Daphne were to not pull through. "Come on, Daph," he urged, squeezing her hand, "wake up." 

The redhead remained unresponsive to the stimulus. 

"Mister Jones?" 

Fred looked up to see an ER nurse standing in the doorway; she signaled him, wordlessly that it was time to leave. The blond man acknowledged with a nod. "Come on, gang," he whispered, "let's go." 

Flim Flam planted a kiss on Daphne's cheek. "I love you," he whispered, as Velma took his hand and gently led him out of the room. Shortly thereafter, the three friends burst out crying, hugging one another and drawing comfort from each other's sorrow. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Flim Flam had fallen asleep in the chair, his head resting gently on Velma's lap. The sight of the boy brought forth an inchoate but persistent maternal instinct, one that informed her of the boy's immediate need for comfort and solace. Velma gently rustled the boy's hair in a kind, motherly fashion. "Don't worry," she whispered, softly. "Someone will always be there for you. I promise." 

Fred watched the younger girl's decidedly uncharacteristic maternal behavior. "I didn't know you had it in you, Velmster," he commented. 

The bespectacled girl put a finger up to her lips. "Shhh," she whispered, gesturing to the sleeping child on her lap. She raised her head to look the blond man in the eyes, her features displaying a worried expression. "Any word yet?"

"She's still critical, and unconscious," reported Fred, "but she's holding on."

"Well, is she expected to recover?"

"It's too soon to say."

"Dammit, Fred," snapped Velma, expressing anger for the first time since the attack, "why can't they tell us anything more?"

The blond man put his hand on the younger girl's shoulder, restraining her. "Easy there, Velms. I know you are upset--I am too--But there isn't anything we can do until morning." Fred yawned, the emotional and physical drain showing in his face. "Let's go out to the van and sleep," he suggested, "it's more comfortable than in here."

Velma looked at the blond man. "I'd rather stay here," she replied, "just to be closer to Daphne." 

"I know, Velma, but I honestly don't think we'd get any sleep here; it's just too busy."

The bespectacled girl shrugged, then gestured to the boy sleeping in her lap. "I don't want to wake him," she whispered.

"You won't have to," replied Fred. Bending over, he gently scooped the child up in his arms and carried him through the automatic doors that led to the parking lot. Velma followed, hesitantly, pausing after a few steps to look back at the ER. "Hold on," she whispered, as though sending a message to her friend, "please, hold on." 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The stringent, discordant beep of the monitors alerted the ER trauma staff to the potential ending of a life. The previously silent unit screeched to life as frantic doctors worked to save the patient's life. 

"Blood pressures dropping."

"What's your reading?"

"80/60." 

"Pulse?'

"Weak and getting weaker, we're losing her."

One of the machines sent a jolt of electricity through the patient's body. "Give me 120V." 

Another jolt, but still, the patient lay still. The previously rhythmic beeping of the EKG monitor became a long, consistent beep, alerting the staff to life's end. 

"She's unresponsive." 

"Okay, I'm going to call it. Time of death, 0330 hours…"

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Daphne!" Flim Flam awakened with a start, sitting bolt upright in the darkness and silence of the van. Something had gone horribly wrong, and the boy knew that he could remedy it, but not without help from the other two people. "Get up!" he shouted, desperately, to no one in particular, "It's an emergency!"

The two adults continued to sleep, unaware of the boy's vision. 

Flim Flam's tone grew desperate. "Velma! Fred!" he cried, "get up!" 

The bespectacled girl stirred, only vaguely aware of the boy's violent reveille. "No…Shaggy…go away…" she mumbled, groggily, "I don't want…another…jaw stretcher, dog food flavored sandwiches …"

Ordinarily, the boy would have laughed at the comment, but now was not the time for levity. "You gotta get up," he yelped, shaking the girl violently, "she needs you!" 

Velma slowly came around, rubbing her eyes, sleepily. "Who needs us?" she murmured, reaching for her glasses, "Flim Flam, what's going on?" 

The boy didn't answer; he had already turned his attention to Fred "Get up!" he cried, slapping the blond man hard on his back. 

"Okay, I'm up," he yawned, "what is it?" 

"I don't have time to explain," blurted Flim Flam. "Daphne's in trouble, and we have to help her." 

The phrase 'Daphne's in trouble' brought the blond man fully to his senses. "What do you mean she's in trouble?' he asked, puzzled. "What's wrong, and how do you know it?" 

"I don't have time to explain, but she could die if we don't do something. Now, you have to trust me; do you trust me?"

Fred carefully considered the boy's request. He knew that Flim Flam had been a street con artist in Tibet, and that the boy had been known for his ruses. The blond man thought it extremely difficult to trust someone of such a sly nature, but understood that now was not the time for rationalization. _Besides_, he thought to himself, _he wouldn't joke about Daphne in that manner_. Satisfied with his analysis, Fred replied, "Yes, I do trust you." 

"Velma?" the boy asked.

Velma paused to assess the situation. Like Fred, she knew about the child's past, and was leery of trusting someone with such a reputation, but, at the same time, was hesitant to break the newly established bond between herself and the boy. Still…

Time was running out. "Do you trust me?" yelped Flim Flam, an almost whining tone present in his voice. 

The bespectacled girl hesitated yet again. "I…"

"Velma, forget about reason for once," scolded Fred, "just trust the boy!"

Fred's admonition brought the bespectacled girl to her senses. "Yes," she replied, "I trust you. Now, what is it you want me to do?"

The dark haired boy sat cross-legged on the floor of the van. "Sit in a circle and join hands," he ordered, " Now!" 

Fred and Velma looked at each other, puzzled. 

"Just do it!" the boy snapped. 

Velma hastily joined hands with the blond man. 

"Now, just clear your minds, and focus on Daphne," Flim Flam ordered. "Concentrate, as hard as you can, just think about her." 

Fred and Velma did as the boy said, focusing on Daphne and on the memories. The afternoon in the tree house; the unwanted, but ultimately welcomed makeover sessions; the playful insults about the redhead's danger prone nature…the void that would be left in her life if Daphne were to die… 

…the countless times he had rescued her from a villain's clutches, the numerous times he had split from the gang to be with Daphne, the playful teasing from Velma about what they did when they went off together…the long overdue confession of his feelings for her, the deep, painful loss that would ensue of the redhead were to die…

* * * * * * * * * * *

__

Daphne. Wake Up. It's not your time. Get up, now. 

Somehow, she heard the voice, but she didn't know from where it came. 

__

Daphne…now…a distant, yet, familiar sounding voice reminding her of something…someone who needed her. 

_Daphne…come back…now. _

The previously silent monitors suddenly blipped back to life; the once monotonous EKG monitor resumed its rhythmic beeping, bringing the attending staff rushing back into the room. "What is it?"

"I don't know, the monitors suddenly started registering something again."

"Power surge?"

"No. It's too continuous. It's something else."

"She's coming around!" blurted one of the nurses. 

Daphne stirred for the first time since her admittance. "Fred…" she asked, groggily. "Vel? Flimmie?" 

The sound of her words brought an elated cheer from the ER staff.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

"Hey, Daffy-dill," Fred called, cheerily, as he, Velma and Flim Flam approached the hospital room, "How are you feeling today?"

It had been almost a week since the redhead's miraculous recovery, and the staff was still at a loss for an explanation. 

Hearing her nickname, Daphne sat up in bed, the very act of which suggested an improvement in her physical and mental state. She had a cast on her arm and a bandage around her forehead, from under which protruded a few wisps of her strawberry blonde hair. "I'm feeling better," she replied, "they want to keep an eye on me for a few more days to see how I do, but I should be able to rejoin you guys soon." 

"Speaking of rejoining," said Velma, "there's someone else who is excited to see you." 

As though on command from the bespectacled girl, Flim Flam bolted forward to greet Daphne, kissing the redhead on the cheek; he would have jumped up on the bed too, if Fred hadn't caught him by the collar of his sweatshirt. "Daphne!" he cried, tears of joy flowing from his eyes, "oh, Daphne, you're alright!" 

The redhead smiled at the boy and hugged him awkwardly, the embrace complicated by the presence of the cast. "So, what did you think of Vel?" Daphne asked, curiously. 

"She's okay in my book," answered Flim Flam, glancing at Velma and winking at her, "but no one compares to you, Daph." He hugged her again, then added, slyly, "But I wouldn't mind Freddie as a father, either." The boy coughed, as if to emphasize his point. Freddie blushed, Velma laughed. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"But I still don't get it," mused Velma, as she accompanied Fred and Flim Flam back to the van. "How can someone have no discernable life functions, then suddenly awaken without any noticeable damage to the cerebral cortex? It just is not logical, nor is it scientifically possible."

Fred gave Velma an equally perplexed look. "I know what you mean, Vel," he began, "but not all mysteries have discreet solutions. Besides, that boy grew up in Tibet, he's probably more in touch with unexplained phenomena than we could ever hope to be." Fred climbed into the driver's seat of the van. "Some mysteries were just never meant to be solved, Velms," he continued, as he started the engine, "and this is one of them." 

Velma pondered the blond man's comment. Briefly, she shifted her gaze to the boy, and, grateful for what he had done to save the redhead's life, decided that this was one mystery that she did not really want to solve. 


End file.
